pineslog | (catch-all) the storm & the st. paddy's day festival

(catch-all) the storm & the st. paddy's day festival

CATCH-ALL: 16TH & 17TH

march 16

THE THUNDER ROLLS

The day starts off atmospherically heavy. The clouds are low, and the temperature is unusually warm, settling in the mid to high 50s (teens in Celsius). Townies are wandering around town in lightweight jackets and hoodies making small talk about the unusual weather, but for the most part they're pleased with the warmth, even if the clouds off in the distance look rather ominous. As the day goes on, the clouds creep closer and the residents seem more inclined to get a roof over their heads and stay there. The midmorning news predicts heavy rainfall by the late afternoon, but the savvier townsfolk say it’s going to be worse than that.

They’re not wrong. The sun drops low, and the winds start to pick up, howling through the trees, bringing with them nickel-size chunks of hail and torrential rains. The darker the night gets, the worse the storm hits Wayward Pines; by the time the sun has set, the sky is obscured with opaque, swirling clouds, the winds snapping trees in half, rattling the power lines, causing electricity to flicker and sometimes go out. The hail pings against the cars not safely parked inside garages, leaving the more exposed with significant damage to paint and windows, and anyone brave (or stupid) enough to step outside is instantly soaked to the skin in cold rain.

The most chilling thing of all isn’t the rain. Anyone trying to wait the weather out on Main Street will hear three wrenching cries coming from the woods, almost like the exact moment a person shreds their vocal cords in a scream. The townies claim not to hear anything unusual. It’s just the wind, they say, and they may be right. The sound as it shrieks through the trees and between buildings is similar enough to cast doubt, and combined with the rain even the most experienced camper would likely get lost trying to find it.

march 17

THERE’S WHISKEY IN THE JAR, OH

Whatever damage was caused by the previous night’s storm has mostly been cleared from Main Street by the early morning of St Patrick's Day. The streets are still a little wet, with plenty of puddles for the more adventurous children (and adults) to splash around in. The air is still a little chilly, but nothing a sweatshirt can’t fix. Nothing’s fully set up until about nine in the morning, but when it is, the St. Patty’s Day celebration gets under way. It’s small, more of a farmers' market or small festival than anything major. There’s food stalls and tables for eating, as well as a few booths where townsfolk are plying their crafts and non-food wares, as well as live music. The festivities during the daylight hours are pretty tame, a PG-rated good time for all.

When the sun sets, the party gets a little more rowdy. Someone busts out the booze and someone else busts out the Mardi Gras beads, and the music gets louder. While many food stalls are still open, the rest have shut down as the street fills with revelers, many of them holding cups half-filled with beer or something a little stronger. This part of the party isn’t for kids, and if anyone underage is spotted they'll quickly get escorted back home by the police — so try not to get caught, yes?

MOD NOTES

This is a catch-all for any and all threads pertaining to the storm (March 16th) and the St. Patrick's Day festival (March 17th)! Details on both of these happenings can be found in the March Newsletter.

PLEASE INCLUDE IN SUBJECT LINE: Character Name, which Day(s) your top-level takes place in, and Open or Closed, to help keep things a bit more organized. (For example: "Joe Biden | 16th & 17th | Open!")

Should you choose to participate in both mini-events, you're welcome to make separate top-level posts for each day or to combine them both into one.

If you have any questions regarding this event, feel free to ask them here.

Threaded | Flat

march 16th

[ so you're trying to wait out the storm on main street, huh? that's too bad. this weather is cruel, right? jokes on you all, ibaraki has bulletproof skin and super strength, and a giant sweet tooth.

any one hanging out is liable to see ibaraki trotting along with a colorful box hoisted on one tiny shoulder, looking pleased with herself despite the terrible weather and her soaked clothes. she appears to be... humming, as she makes her way down main street, and into the residential areas, clearly not giving a care in the world to the sound of screams we just heard. ]

march 17th

[ such festivities! so much green! is this what a human celebration is like? its the first truly human event she's seen here, and as such, it presents the perfect opportunity to acquire... things. and what better way to acquire stuff than to do it sneakily? or in other words, as loudly as possible without anyone knowing its her. any character minding their own business (and sometimes those who aren't) is liable to be addressed out of the blue by a loud, deep voice: ]

Citizen! [ the voice belongs to the very large person striding out of the crowd towards them. "person" i say, but really, its a giant lion man in a skintight suit. he strides over, ignoring other looks and puts a condescending hand on his chest to introduce himself. ]

It is I, Thomas Alva Edison, PRESIDENT-KING OF THE UNITED STATES! Gyahahaha! [ a break to breathe, and then america's true fursona (read: ibaraki in disguise) leans in. ] Have you paid me your taxes, citizen?

[ what will you do? talk? run? quiz him on his grasp of the roles of government and the president? reach up and pet his fluffy fluffy incredible mane?

ooc note! ibaraki is using her shapeshift ability, impersonating a canonmate who is not in the game. more information is availiable here. questions can also be directed to me at projected! ]

[ TOSSING STARTERS IN AS RESPONSES TO THIS THREAD because I'm slow and will prob need to get them up one at a time. ]

[ Nice of the weather to get its shit together for whatever this little festival is, right? Aranea mills around a little during the day, checking out the food and craft stalls with only middling interest, but the louder music in the evening draws her back. This is more like it.

It takes her a disgracefully short amount of time to locate the booze and fetch herself a plastic cup of whiskey, which goes nicely with the thrift-shop tee she's wearing with a leather jacket as a half-assed concession to the chill in the air. You'll find her tapping a booted foot to the music, refilling her drink, or as the evening goes on, fighting back the urge to kick into those puddles or eyeing beads with a covetous expression. Sure, they're crap, but they're crap she doesn't have. ]

[ When he asks her, she's a little surprised. Granted, the tension between them had softened over the last few weeks — the delicate dance of how to go back to just being friends after you thought you were in love is difficult enough when you're not dealing with your mind giving you two conflicting sets of statements, both of which it insists are equally true. But the resurgence of memories, the thought of the way his skin felt under her fingers, the small smiles he'd give her when they woke up in the morning, the ease they had with one another, all of it made it harder than it really needed to be. The fact that none of it was real just made her angry, even if the intrusive idea that some of it was kept crawling its way into her thoughts when she lay alone in her bed at night. Certainly everything they'd done with one another upon arriving home that first night was real. Or, at least, it had felt real. It's never been easy for Natasha to deal with not being able to tell one lie from another. And when it's her own mind doing it to her? Impossible.

So. Despite it all, they made the friendship work. Awkward and avoidant at first, with a slow gradual crawl towards the tentative friendship they'd had when they'd first started working together on STRIKE. She's not really sure why he asks, although his reasoning is sound. Bucky won't be home until late from his job, and with the way the day had been looking, she could understand not wanting to stand around in the kitchen.

Also, she misses him. They live together, but it isn't the same. That much, at least, she knows is real for her. So she accepts, and makes small talk with him as they head out to Main Street, asking him about his day, telling him about hers, pointing out the restaurant they're going to is run by the guy who taught her how to make pancakes without destroying the pan. It's nice. And if they weren't just friends, she'd probably consider it a date.

The sun is starting to set as they leave the restaurant, and Natasha squints up at the sky for a moment, a little worried, but she also doesn't want to go home just yet. The coffee shop isn't far, and before she can talk herself out of it, she glances up at him. ] Do you wanna get some coffee and dessert?

Edited 2017-03-17 00:15 (UTC)

16th; just know I’m right here hopin’, that you’ll come in with the rain

[ despite the new information, and his newfound truce, Damon doesn't give up on Elena eventually finding her way here. he doesn't want her here, not if she's in any danger and not if it's just after waking up, but with Katherine being from earlier in time, he can't help but wonder if Elena could, as well. he vacillates between wishing he were here and not wishing this on anyway. (he'd selfishly take Bonnie over Elena if they are indeed in a long form danger.

both Katherine and Damon decide to wear their wedding rings. until they learn that there's been a trial separation or this is some giant joke by their faceless overlords, they've decided to play along. now a married man, Damon's routine doesn't change. what unnerves him (on a long list), is the sudden chatter about incoming inclement weather. there was the snow the month before which was just inconvenient, but only because he'd done the 'stuck inside' routing his first week. this seems to worry the townies and drop-ins alike and that doesn't sit well.

he spends the morning before opening being a chatty local business owner, trying to get the low down on the impending storm. between outright asking about the storm, or asking if they've heard there's going to be one, he both spreads the word and tries to find more answers. something that lack in this town. maybe it's as he gets his morning coffee, as he's window shopping at Lagomarchino's or, as he's heading into work. ] I don't know if you heard, but a storm is coming this afternoon.

[ before the storm, he can be found in his office, taking care of the books once again. It's getting monotonous his second month in, and he's starting to get antsy. don't judge that he's several drinks in for the day.

he encourages Stefan to pack it in early, but the storm seems to be kept at bay. just before sunset, they decide to take separate cars. their lives do seem to have veered off, what with Damon's marriage.

he takes the storm lightly, ignoring the ominous clouds, the howling wind that kicks up and the earlier warnings. it hits quickly. it's not the rain that concerns him, but the hail that starts to come down. in Mystic Falls, he'd use his speed and make it inside somewhere, but he's not the only one caught outside and there are cameras everywhere. the hail becomes unavoidable, more than a mere nuisance as it actually starts to hit. taking advantage of the quaint small town life, he finds the first car door he can that's open and climbs into the passenger side. oh, is this not his car? too bad. ] It's really coming down out there.

17th; talk to the man who put you here, and don't wait for the sky to clear

[ damon's not expecting an event. in Mystic Falls, these are planned weeks in advanced. there are volunteers and costumes and it's all very down home, but here, he wakes up and by the time he makes it into work, he has to veer off to a side street and park there, because there's some kind of festival. it's the first time since valentines' he realizes that there's a true calendar to this place. it's St. Patrick's day.

since cars can't actually make it into their garage, damon encourages stefan not to open, but to enjoy. what better way to get to know the towns people and garner more information, than to attend the local events? in truth, he's going for three reasons, one to see if jiaying is about, to see if she's garnered anything knowledgeable, check in with Malia should she be there, and to let her know another vampire from his world has arrived, and to see if the local sheriff shows up. he's feeling friendly. he's always been a friend to the sheriff's.

during the day, damon doesn't each much. when pressed to eat something, he'll oblige with a smile, but at some point he may tell the person he isn't hungry. he'll wander the craft carts, and take in the sights, but mostly, he's on the lookout for people he knows, the previous three people mentioned, and new people whose memories haven't slotted into place for him yet. there's a puzzle to put together, and everyone here might be a part of it.

at night, damon is the life of the party, especially when he gets his hands on beads. to any lucky ladies of an acceptable age he may just ] You know, per Mardi Gras rules, I can't just hand these beads over. There is Mardi Gras currency. [ And he'll coyly shrug. ] Those are several decade old traditions we'd be disrespecting. [ but he's mostly joking, he is technically married and people here know his wife. he'll still give a bead necklace away. or four.

[ when not getting women to take their tops off, innocently, he's seeing what this town is like at night, when people aren't under the cover of bars or safe inside their artificial fake homes. it's fascinating. if he sees a kid he's spoken to, he'll do his town duty and offer to escort them home. ] isn't it a little after your bed time?

[ finally, for the first time in two months, he's imbibing, not privately, but publicly. over-imbibing really, to the point of dancing and reveling and even flirting. ] You're not wearing green. You know what that means. [ and feel free to point out that he isn't, either. ]

Edited 2017-03-17 02:17 (UTC)

march 16
[now that she's got most of her memories back, Rachel remembers why she hates waking up before 11 or crashing before 3am. And no one seems to be saying anything about it yet, so she's trying to keep to her natural sleep cycle as much as possible. So by the time she's dressed and made her coffee and is out of the house, the weather is already turning. Lucky she's in the habit of wearing her leathers, not for warmth but to protect her skin if she falls. She's also got all her usual amulets tucked beneath her collar, all but the one for her hair uninvoked but ready to go at a moment's notice.

Anyone who sees her before the storm really hits will just see a slightly-odd but also kind of hot redhead window shopping and occasionally digging through her giant handbag for lip balm or gum. When the rain starts, she's smart enough to at least step into the semi-protection of a shop doorway, hugging her arms to herself. She really is planning to try to just book it back to her house when the rain starts, but then she hears the screams and--

Yeah, screw laying low. Even as she can hear Ivy and Jenks cursing her recklessness in her head, Rachel's running towards the source of the sound. At the edge of the woods, anyone else who's out there or at least close enough might see her stop eerily still, and even if they can't see her mouth move, they might notice that the way her hair moves doesn't quite make sense even with all the wind whipping about. And then after just a few heartbeats, she's running towards the source of the screaming again, heedless of any beating her body might be taking or the fact her teeth are starting to chatter]

march 17
[despite her case of 'mild hypothermia' which she keeps trying to laugh off, Rachel is at the fair. Partially for a more morbid curiosity to see what people here think of when they think of leprechauns--she's going to have to keep a lot of laugher and eye rolling in check. But she's also checking out the craft booths to see if anyone is making anything that is more than trinkets, anything with real magic in it.

And of course, after sunset, she can be found at the food stalls with a cup in hand looking a lot happier than she has been in days, although there are moments when the loud music seems to catch her off guard for some reason and she stares into space, trying to get one still stubbornly foggy memory to finish clearing]

16th

[ The town verbally grows in acceptance of the obvious ominous storm that's moving toward them, and Malia prefers that to the fake dispositions of most of its residents. There are more flavorful characters that go against the grain and she gravitates to them upon the happenstance that she learns they arrived there exactly as she did.

Out in the morning, she sticks to the shops to try to learn more. Yet, 'worse' isn't very specific, is it?

When the hail starts, she's just gone inside, but the appearance of the weather doesn't dissuade her. In fact, she intends to step out into it, wanting to gauge how bad it might be. Steps out, most of her body still inside as she holds the door open, one hand reaching out to be pelted by one of the larger pieces of hail. She cries out, grimacing and pulling back, stepping back and letting the door shut. Front of her body streaked from the rain. Oops. Staring outside with a furrowed brow. Finally, she turns to actually looks around.

Where is she? It smells...not so horrible. Warmth. Nice aromas, and something's baking somewhere, but the decor of the place is unlike anywhere she's seen before. ] What the hell is this place? [ A tea room, Malia. Have you no culture at all? Who else could be there? Are they mad if she let water pool in through the door as she tested the outside for safety? Or maybe uncertain that she's asking about the place she went into. ]

17th

[ She's drawn to the evening's festivities as much as the ones in the sunny hours of the day.

However. Not everyone thinks that Malia should be there. How old is she, she's asked? ] What does it matter to you? Do I look like I'm trying to drink anything? [ Is this worker (or another resident, unwilling or otherwise? OOPS) of the family fun time after-party moving to lay a hand on her shoulder? They are. Oh. She reaches to grab it. ] No. You can't tell me what to do. What are you, the sheriff? [ With that accompanied by a deluge of feeling like she's absolutely an adult which is so what any mature adult would think, her eyes flash electric blue for a second at them, nodding and dropping their hand away. ] Go do something useful. Like kick people out of the party who actually deserve to be. [ Are they still advancing on her? Hopefully not, because she's walking away to look around at the less annoying patrons of the party. She's eighteen: she can do what she wants! Plus, no drinking. She can't get drunk. What's the point? ]

[3/16]

[The second day of work north of the hospital starts well enough. It's actually not too awful outside, and the crew he's working with (all locals) are actually pretty nice guys. No one makes him talk too much, they just let him carry and dig and load trucks. The manual labor helps keep him from getting too tense, too worried about just what's going on in this town, lets him believe that once they finish the mission, Warren and the others will come back for him. He doesn't know where they are, doesn't have any way of reaching them, so all he can do is wait. It helps to have something to do to fill his time.

The morning goes by fast, but around noon he starts to notice the sky. Some of the other men grumble, and they call it a day in the late afternoon, a couple hours early. He heads into town to pick up dinner on his way home, sure he'll make it in time, but the sky apparently has other plans as he's not even a block into Main Street before it opens up completely. Making a mad dash for the nearest shop overhang, 10K leans back against the facade, hands wiping rain from his face, when he hears the first scream. Head whipping around, he tries to locate the source, and when he hears another body step out of the shop, he looks to them for confirmation.]

Did you hear that?

[He barely waits for an answer. The second scream comes, and he bolts straight towards the sound coming from the woods, hand reaching to the pocket of his coat for a weapon.]

[3/17]

[In hindsight, running around outdoors in the middle of a hailstorm has not been one of his brighter ideas. Neither was running towards the horrible screaming coming from the woods, but hey. Honestly, the bruises hurt more today.

10K still goes to work at the construction site, toughing it out and brushing off the few concerned questions from the older men working with him, and it isn't til 6 or so that he makes his way over to the festival he'd seen them setting up this morning, looking for food and maybe some sign of what the night before had been all about. Feel free to find him stuffing his face, a violet-green bruise on his forehead peeking out from under spiky bangs, or maybe having a drink or two. While he's still 19, he acts old enough and has been working around town long enough that most of the locals forget he's still technically not old enough--and either way he's not exactly flaunting the cup in his hand. Although he might ask you what you're having--better than going to the hospital for painkillers, right?]

[wildcard]

[Feel free to hit me with other scenarios, I'm open!]

16th
[Jiaying is having tea at Java Joe's (she is a menace to coffee shops) when word of terrible weather starts to spread. She decides to stay indoors, ordering a refill and a slice of cake. As the hail starts to fall outside, she looks up at the harsh screams echoing from the woods.

And is assaulted by flashes of the past she has been denied for so long. Her grip on the mug loosens and it crashes to the floor. Not that she cares. She remembers and the thought- the very thought that she has been mingling with humans, helping them- disgusts her to the core. Her eyes narrow and she stares ahead past the window and into the distance. She can't stay here.

She stands and moves to throw open the door, inviting the hail and rain indoors before she steps outside. The hail hurts immediately and she's aware she'll bruise and hurt but there's something inhuman about those screams, and she feels more of a kinship in that direction than she does sitting among humans in the store. She raises her left forearm to shield her eyes and steps out into the horrid weather.]

17th
[Jiaying shows up to the festivities as the sun sets, calm and hiding the injuries from the hail underneath long sleeves and pants. She's here to observe. Memories or no, she is still trapped in this place, bound by their rules, stuck playing counselor, stuck with memories that seem just as real but disconnected from what she just regained.

She folds her arms and watches. Her expression transforming from cold and calculative to a form of polite friendliness when someone acknowledges her. She smiles and exchanges small talk, putting on the act as easily as she always has. She accepts a cup of liquor while saying:]

Thank you but I don't drink. Please, enjoy your night.

[When someone else places Mardi Gras beads around her neck, she smiles a troubled smile. Surely someone will help one who seems so out of place at a party?]

Edited 2017-03-17 09:38 (UTC)

[ You don't belong here.

It's a sentiment that's been running through Jefferson's head for weeks, and he's tried his damnedest to shut it out, but lately, it's more insistent than ever, like it's coiling around each and every one of his thoughts.

Of course he doesn't belong here. Wayward Pines is a small, podunk Mountain town, and he's from... another nothing-town. In Maine.

No. He's from New York. The city. Or is it somewhere else entirely? He remembers a shining, emerald city, but he knows he's not from there. Neither is he from the superstitious village without color. He may have lived in a cottage he's dreamt about. The name Tulgey Wood also sticks out in his mind.

Regardless, he's not from here. He's an outsider, a misfit, and he's always been one. Jefferson, the strange man who owns a tea shop and dresses in a way that's both fashionable and unusual, sticking out when he ought to work at blending in. He's known for being... troubled. High-strung. Dramatic. Eccentric, when people are feeling charitable with their words.

After yesterday's storm, he could hardly sleep. And in the shop today, he's listless before closing early. The memories (He's starting to think of them as 'memories' now instead of delusions-- probably something he ought to seek medication for.) are getting to be too much. Too loud, crowding in his head until he feels as if his mind's about to burst. For a few hours, he simply stays inside his motel room, drinking alone, trying to drown out the cacophonous racket in his head. And as the sun sets, he finally wanders outside again, dressed in a way that's unusual for him, even if it's perfectly normal for others. It's like he wants to hide, to try at blending in. To belong here.

But he doesn't, and he never will. He feels even more like an odd duck when he's out among the St. Patrick's Day revelers. He's in a self-destructive enough mood to force himself to stay out with them, drinking whatever he can get his hands on until he's drunk enough to be both belligerent and loose-lipped. He's ranting about fairytales and other nonsense, namedropping people like Rumplestiltskin and Dr. Frankenstein and Peter Pan-- who, just so you know, is a real prick.

It's pretty clear that he's well on his way to getting a not-so-friendly visit from the sheriff. ]

Edited (I've hidden an easter egg in this tag) 2017-03-17 15:31 (UTC)

16TH, 9 PM, AT THE SCHOOL

❰ she could've stayed at the diner, probably. they wouldn't have kicked out a kid, even at closing time. even a kid as grubby as clem.

but she didn't, and after wandering the street long enough that the rain washed her clean of much of the dirt plus any residual body heat to speak of, she finally caves and retreats under the first shelter she can find: the school's playground.

she doesn't go to the school here - not yet, anyway. the sheriff's hassled her on it a couple of times, in the process of hassling her for roughing it in the woods. one day, she's gonna have to cave... but for now, the schoolyard gets to serve a much more practical purpose.

anyone passing by the school this evening might catch a whiff of smoke on the wind, present despite the rain. move a little closer, and you'll spot a flicker of fire from underneath the playground's decent-sized wood-and-metal fort. that's definitely where the smoke is coming from, no question about it.

come a little closer, and you'll find clementine. instead of sleeping on the damp ground, she's curled up in the concave side of a large metal shield, legs tucked into her jacket, two small black objects in her hands - it's hard to see what, in the dim.

it seems like she's fallen asleep by the fire. ❱

17TH, EVENING, AT THE FESTIVAL

❰ kids aren't allowed at the festival at night. that much is obvious enough just by the mood of it, loud and raucous, alcohol every which way, beads of some kind around just about every neck.

but in the light-hearted chaos of it, people quickly start to get clumsy. forgetful. if you're passing by one of the cleared out booths, you might just catch wind of a reveler laughing about disappearing food. they must've eaten it already without even noticing! but if you're observant, you know precisely what happened: the tablecloth draped down the front of the booth shifted aside just long enough for a very small arm to dart out and snag the fresh-grilled kebab right out of their hand, whisking it back under the booth as if nothing happened.

because clementine's here, maybe not out amongst the partiers but enjoying the festivities nonetheless. besides the kebab, she's got a half-empty bottled soda and a bag of cotton candy, still nearly full. loud sounds still make her a little nervous - she went years without hearing a single shout that didn't come from a homicidal bandit - but every so often, someone outside of her hiding spot bursts into a laugh, and clem can't help but smile around her next bite of kebab.

this is the first real party she's been to in four years. no - maybe even in her whole life.

you're not gonna tell on her, are you? ❱

[The last day has been a very eventful for Skye. Mostly because of finding out that her mother was here, alive. Her whole life she had been searching for her family, and here she was, living right under her nose. Except they couldn’t let others know that they were actually related, much less mother and daughter. It was Jiaying who warned her that it could be dangerous, and Skye agreed.

Most of her day is spent in her bed from a mixture of shock, but also pain thanks to the hail from last night. She didn’t have anything in the house and the effort it took to get up took quite a few hours. Washing her face was painful, and her hands ached from trying to shield her face from the hail last night after running in the woods with 10k trying to find the source of the screaming.

When she finally made it out of her house, Skye noticed a few people staring. Kind of hard not to look when her face is covered in welts. She plans on just getting some pain killers but gets caught up in the festivities. She just wants to get stuff for her face and now she’s being knocked into by drunk people, one of them handing her a cup which she kindly declines. Spotting someone who hopefully is sober(but with her luck won’t be), she excuses makes her way over to them.]

Hi. Um, am I going the right way to the pharmacy?

[Wildcard]

march 17th, before the festival;

[ servants without masters don't sleep; they have no need. eliza doesn't remember what it's like to sleep a full night anymore — not since stepping out of the throne of heroes. something at the back of her mind tells her that even before then, she hadn't been sleeping well. she still can't remember the finer details of a lot of her life before this town or the holy grail wars, but she remembers enough to know who she is. lady elizabeth bathory from hungary, seen as nothing but a doll by her family and those who loved her, pressured into staying young and beautiful by any means necessary.

eliza supposes the joke's on them now. as a heroic spirit she'll never age: her beauty will be everlasting and everyone will love her.

she remembers growing up within stone walls, well educated but not often allowed to play with other children. perhaps that's why she's outside now in the early morning hours. a potent mix of being unable to sleep, unable to stay within those walls any longer, and unable to shake off the sudden, pressing migraine at the back of her eyes. it comes and goes, sharpens to a point and then dissipates. a clawed hand presses to the side of her head but she shakes it off, horns tossing condensation from the post-storm air.

her white boots come to a pause at the edge of a shallow puddle, and eliza tips her head down, glancing at her reflection in the water. the wind ripples the surface, and she tips her head. when the rain came, it would often come down heavy, and the streets would remain muddy for weeks afterward. eliza's not sure she's ever seen a puddle like this before, and she doesn't fight the strange urge to simply jump in. the cold water splashes up over her shins and out onto the street, and echoing the sound is her giggle, clawed fingers pressing to her mouth.

eliza's certain she's alone, but man, it'd be embarrassing if someone was watching, right? you should come ruin this moment. ]

march 17th, at the festival;

[ eliza can be found at pretty much any food booth that's serving something meaty and delicious, looking like she's about to consume her weight in protein and soda. without a master, eliza needs to actually eat in order to keep her mana stores up, and even though she's slowly getting annoyed with the whole thing, she figures it's better than actually killing one or ten of these townsfolk to consume their souls. after all, there's still that nagging need to ... atone for what she did.

if she's not at a food booth, she can be found harassing the band, insisting she be allowed to sing because "Don't you know!? I'm an idol, and I should sing for my adoring fans!" luckily for basically everyone, the band is adamant about not letting strange girls with tails and horns onto their stage because her appearance would scare the families. with each second that passes, eliza's getting more frustrated, and at one point, she'll even rip off one of her mari gras necklaces (she has about 30 of them) and throw it. sorry if you're in the way!

or really, just roll with it, this is wildcard. ]

Edited 2017-03-19 03:03 (UTC)

festival; after sundown

( a bell rings. somewhere — far off. his mind strains to place the noise. a telephone, that's what it is. close enough to hear. but —

his mind snaps into focus. his eyes adjusts to his surroundings. like waking up in a daze, a fog veils his vision for a moment before clearing. it's nighttime on main street. above is the black expansive inkiness of the sky, dotted with white dots twinkling like diamonds. below is a party: bright, loud, and rowdy. a moment passes and his hearing clears. he becomes attuned to the fanfare and swirling crowd around him. the ringing still persists in his ears, a noise that's not exactly identifiable. horns blare. people shout and cheer. the garish lights of the booths blind. a bottle of champagne pops. something hits his shoulder.

something's wrong. he doesn't feel right.

the realization starts slowly, at first. creeping into his mind before suddenly seizing upon him like a wild cat's ambush. he doesn't know how he got here. his feet act on their own accord and takes a step to the left. he bumps in to someone. various words of apology come to mind but he isn't aware that he said anything until the person replies back with a slurred "'s ok, mistah stark!" the person stumbles away, leaving behind a stunned howard stark. he wants to follow the person and ask him what's going on, but his body doesn't respond. it's as if his body's on autopilot, acting on its own. he's not in control.

his fists clench tightly until white-knuckled, and it's the first movement he does intentionally. a glass shatters a few yards away, and a woman laughs shrilly, and he winces, and people push up close against him like they're sardines about to be canned, and a strong perfume enters his nose, and his hands begin to shake, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's —

his eyes settle on the ornate, glitzy sign of "SHIELD's electronics & repair." the shaking in his hands stop and, as he regains control of his body, the fear begins to float away. his eyes slip close and he lets out a sigh before taking in a sharp breath of air.

he doesn't feel right. he needs to leave.

he starts to move, pushing through the crowd, to get to — well, anywhere honestly. just someplace that doesn't reek of vomit and isn't overflowing with cherry sisters rejects. his pushing is a little rough at times. so, if he happens to push someone a little too roughly, feel free to let him know. he's itchin' for some action. )

[ When the rain begins coming down, it isn't the droplet she hears at her ears. At first, it's the screams, loud enough to draw anyone's attention. But then she feels like she hears more, something not quite clear to distinguish but something nonetheless. But the screams, the screams. Could it be another banshee?

She doesn't take the time to consider it, she doesn't want to, not when the screams are drawing her into a run. She knows Jordan falling, but her mind is elsewhere, her feet taking her fast into the woods, ignoring the way the rain pecks harshly at her cheeks as it begins to beat down at an accelerated pace, loud as it beats again the muddy grass. ]

Is someone there? I'm here! I'm here! [ Rushing through the trees, out of breath, she slides to a stop against one, her palms pressed up against the bark as she looks around.

Wet strands of hair partially cover her eyes, but she takes no notice of it, taking in deep breaths. ] They're here, Jordan. They're around here. Somewhere. They have to be.

Threaded | Flat

IBARAKI DOUJI; 16TH &17TH; OPEN.

Bucky Barnes | 16th | Closed

Aranea Highwind | 17th | ota

Natasha Romanoff | 16 & 17th | Closed to Steve Rogers

damon salvatore l 16th and 17th l Open